He heard their half ven spirits of his fathers. formed words, and dimly beheld the times to come. He beheld the kings of Atha, the sons of future days". They led their hosts, along the field, like ridges of mist, which winds pour, in autumn, over Atha of the groves. "Larthon raised the hall of Samla 18, to the music of the harp 19. He went forth to the roes of Erin, to their wonted streams. Nor did he forget green-headed Lumon; he often bounded over his seas, to where white-handed Flathal looked from the hill of roes. Lumon of the foamy streams, thou risest on Fonar's soul!" Morning pours from the east. The misty heads of the mountains rise. Vallies shew, on He beheld the kings of Par. Lost, xi. 356. 17 Dimly beheld the times to come. Atha, the sons of future days.] Know I am sent, To shew thee what shall come in future days, To thee and to thy offspring. 18 Samla, apparitions, so called from the vision of Larthon concerning his posterity. MACPHERSON. 19 Larthon raised the hall of Samla, to the music of the harp.] Par. Lost, i. 710. Anon, out of the earth, a fabric huge every side, the grey-winding of their streams. His host heard the shield of Cathmor: at once they rose around; like a crowded sea, when first it feels the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll; they lift their troubled heads *° 20 Sad and slow retired Sul-malla to Lona of the streams. She went, and often turned; her blue eyes rolled in tears. But when she came to the rock, that darkly-covered Lona's vale, she looked, from her bursting soul, on the king; and sunk, at once, behind. Son" of Alpin, strike the string. Is there 20 Like a crowded sea, when first it feels the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll. They lift their troubled heads.] Supra, iv. 24. Iliad, xiv. 16. Ως δ' ὅτε πορφύρῃ ΠΕΛΑΓΟΣ μέγα κύματι κωφῷ, ΟΣΣΟΜΕΝΟΝ λιγέων ΑΝΕΜΩΝ λαιψηρὰ ΚΕΛΕΥΘΑ "As when the vast ocean grows black, o'er the face of its silent waters; prescient of the coming storms, the rapid course of the whistling winds. Dark it heaves along its bounds, but knows not whither to roll its waves." MACPHERSON's Homer, ii. 47. 21 The original of this lyric ode is one of the most beautiful passages of the poem. The harmony and variety of its versification prove, that the knowledge of music was considerably advanced in the days of Ossian. Puail teud, mhic Alpain nam fón Ambail solas an clarsach na ncëol? aught of joy in the harp? Pour it then on the soul of Ossian: it is folded in mist. I hear thee, O bard, in my night. But cease the lightlytrembling sound". The joy of grief belongs to Ossian, amidst his dark-brown years. Taom air Ossian, agus ossun gu tróm ; Chualas ú, bhaird, a m'oicha. Ach siumhla' fón edrom uaim sein, &c. A dhrëun uaina thulloch nan tais A thaomas do chean air gaoith oicha, &c. 22 Is there aught of joy in the harp---But cease the lightlytrembling string.] The joy of the harp ceaseth. Isaiah, xxiv. 8. But the lightly-trembling sound;" "Son of Alpin strike the string;" and in a former passage, "Light-trembling from the harp, strike, virgins, strike the sound," are among the most common expressions in our Lyric poetry. In DRYDEN's St Cecilia; supra, iv. 13. The trembling notes ascend the sky—— A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. In POPE'S St Cecilia; Wake into voice each silent string, And sweep the sounding lyre In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats. And in GRAY's Progress of Poesy, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. But the efforts to translate these expressions into Earse of the third century, are alone sufficient to discredit the pretended originals. "Pual teud, mhic Alpain nam fon;" Strike the string, Green thorn of the hill of ghosts, that shakest thy head to nightly winds! I hear no sound in thee; is there no spirit's windy skirt now rustling in thy leaves? Often are the steps of the dead, in the dark-eddying blasts; when the moon, a dun shield, from the east, is rolled along the sky. Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voices of the days of old! Let me hear you, while yet it is dark, to please and awake my soul. I hear you not, ye sons of song; in what hall of the clouds is your rest? Do you touch the shadowy harp, robed with morning mist, where the rustling sun comes forth from his green-headed waves? son of Alpin of song. "Ambail solas an clarsach na ncëol?" Dwells there solace in the harp of music? "Taom air Ossian, Tume (pour) it upon Ossian. ""Ta anam a snamh an ceo ;" His soul (anima) is swimming in mist. "Chualas ú, bhaird, a m' oicha ;" I hear thee, bard, in my night. "Ach siubhla' fón edrom uaim fein;" But depart the light sound from me, &c. |